


the dust has only just begun to fall

by deanwinchesterissaved



Series: Drabble boys [8]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, Major Character Injury, messing around goes wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanwinchesterissaved/pseuds/deanwinchesterissaved
Summary: When stage swords are sharp and masks are shed and worn, where will they land?
Relationships: Ryan Bergara & Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Series: Drabble boys [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613827
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	the dust has only just begun to fall

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 8) a theatre mask, a golden sword, a crying Ryan
> 
> Heya, life is majorly fucking me and my friends over right now, and as Shane and Ryan advised in the new True Crime ep, the solution to that is a good cry. That particular action still hasn't ended for me, but at least now this exists. 
> 
> Title from Hide & Seek by Garrett Garfield.

The pain takes his breath away. 

"Shane?" Ryan's voice trembles, the name catching at the back of his throat. Shane can't see his expression behind the intricate theatre mask Ryan wears. 

"No." He manages, hands drawing toward his middle, to the warm wet patch on his shirt that's getting larger by the second, the dark stain stretching down with the pull of gravity. He can feel the cold of the steel inside him.

Shane's knees crash into the smooth stage floor, and a sound rips out of him, a fire lighting up in his torso to join the ice. 

Blood. There's so much blood. 

Ryan's hands are stained with it. They flutter around, pulling Shane's back onto his lap and pressing around Shane's weak fingers and the golden steel. 

"Oh my god, Shane. Shane?"

They were just fooling around, just the two of them in the dark old not-haunted southern theater with some props they had snuck out from backstage. The exit sign glows neon in the corner, the individual letters blurring in Shane's vision. 

"It wasn't sharp, I-I tested it before, how--" Ryan's rambling, and Shane should do something about that, he always does. Say something funny, taunt a ghost, stand firm and tell Ryan what he needs to do. 

But he can't quite bring his lungs to work, and a wet rasp is all that comes out. 

"I'll get help, Shane, just hang in there alright? I'll get us help." There's a new rectangle of light in the dim space, and Ryan's harsh breaths are loud in the silence, coming twice as fast as if he's trying to make up for something, as if Ryan can breathe for him. 

Shane still can't see Ryan's face, and suddenly the sight of the mask is too much, the designs painted in gold swirling and twisting in his eyes, the hard carved mouth smiling down at him in its frozen mirth. 

So he reaches out, fingers stained with red brushing against the deep blue edge of the mask, Ryan's eyes glimmer from the cut out holes. 

"Shane?" He asks, uncertain. 

"Can't see." Shane whispers. Ryan's eyes widen and in a split second the mask is gone, but there's too much worry in that face for Shane to be satisfied. Having a friend that understands your every intention isn't always useful, Shane thinks. 

He wishes Ryan would stop looking at him like that. 

"Fuck you Shane, you don't get to do this to me." Now there's a fire in Ryan's voice, and Shane smiles, or at least tries to. Anger, yes. That's useful. "This is  _ not _ the last time you'll see me, you son of a--"

"911 what's your emergency?" Shane hears a voice say from the phone, the well-known phrase that had been ingrained in their very culture finally being spoken before his eyes and ears.

Somehow he never expected to be the reason for it. 

"Hello? We need an ambulance right now--" Ryan talks fast into his phone, but Shane stops listening, settling his eyes on Ryan's mouth, urging his brain to trace the movement, to keep working, keep functioning. 

He can't fall into that grey in-between. He won't let that happen.

"They're coming Shane, you'll be fine, you hear me? You will." Both of Ryan's hands are over Shane's now, and he lets out a groan at the added pressure, feeble hands trying to shove them off. 

Ryan only tightens his grip, fresh lines glistening down his cheeks from the light of his phone. "I know it hurts big guy, I'm so sorry, oh god. I’m so sorry, but you gotta let me keep the pressure on it. Shane please."

Shane can taste metal at the back of his throat, which probably isn't a good sign if all of the movies he's watched are any indication. Shane nods if only to do something, to offer the other man a bit of relief in case things go south. Ha. Shane wishes he could have said it aloud just to stir up that fire in Ryan again, or maybe Ryan’ll just grin with that fond look in his eyes. 

Shane wants to see the whole wheel of Ryan's expressions again, and he's losing time, damn it, he's entitled to it. 

_ You'll be okay _ , Shane thinks, maybe he says it too. It's a bit hard to keep track with his vision fading out in patches. He can’t quite control his face, he might as well be wearing a mask. 

But Ryan gets what he means, he always does. 

“No don’t you fucking start, this isn’t goodbye, don’t you dare.” Ryan’s face crumples, and no, no, that’s not what Shane wants, but he doesn’t have the energy to do anything else. There’s something desperate in Ryan’s eyes, he’s grasping for straws now, and Shane loves him for that, for trying even when there’s nothing left to do but wait. 

“You, Shane Madej, are going to make it, or-or God help me I’ll kill you myself.” 

But it’s also exactly what will make it so much harder for him. 


End file.
